


The Wolf and His Boy

by aseriesofbadlifechoices



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Narnia AU, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofbadlifechoices/pseuds/aseriesofbadlifechoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the Chronicles of Narnia book, the Horse and His Boy. Except, well Derek's not a horse in this one ;)</p>
<p>“You’d be a fool to think that man would treat you fairly,” the voice said lowly.</p>
<p>Stiles snapped his head back and forth searching for the source of the voice. “Who said that?” he said in a panicked whisper.</p>
<p>“I did, you fool,” the voice said again. Stiles could barely believe it, but he was almost certain the voice came from the wolf. It was staring straight at him and there was not another person in sight.</p>
<p>“How on earth did <em>you</em> learn to talk,” he exclaimed, moving forward to stand in front of the wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Stiles Left His Home

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [puppetmasterc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/puppetmasterc)

Once upon a time, in the golden age of Narnia when Queen Lydia still reigned, there lived a boy and a fisherman far to the south in the country of Calormen. The young boy, Stiles, lived with his father, a poor fisherman. The fishman owned a small cottage near the creek that ran out to the Great Eastern Sea. Though he called the man father, Stiles didn’t have much love for the man and often daydreamed of finding a better life when he was old enough to leave the man.

The old fisherman spent his mornings out in his boat and his afternoons trying to sell that’s day’s catch at the market in the small village nearby. Stiles spent his days around the cottage. He washed and mended the fisherman’s nets, cooked his dinner, and cleaned the donkey’s stable. He often looked up to the hill in the distance, wondering what was beyond it, to the north.

He’d tried asking his father on occasions when he was in what might have passed for a good mood. Usually, the old man just cuffed the boy about his ears and told him to focus on his tasks; there was nothing beyond the cottage that he need worry about. It was most likely that the fisherman didn’t know what lay to the north, as he had only been to the nearby village south of the cottage. 

Stiles had no interest in what lay to the south. He’d been to the village a few times when the fisherman needed to buy him new clothes, a task he always despised. The village held nothing interesting. It was full of other old men, just like his father, who wore dirty robes and talked about boring topics such as the weather and their finances.

One day a stranger arrived at their cottage from the south, riding upon a creature like Stiles had never seen before. The man sat upon a large wolf nearly the size of a horse, with an inky black coat and a snarling mouth. He had only heard stories of the gigantic wolves that had been tamed to be ridden into battle. The man was clearly a soldier, most likely an officer in the royal army given his dress. The strange saddle he had atop the wolf was intricately embroidered and inlaid with silver. The man himself wore a chain mail vest, and had silver armbands around his biceps. He wore a spiked helmet and there was a long broadsword strapped to his side as well. 

The old fisherman knew the man must be a great lord to have such riches and quickly dropped to his knees and bowed before the man. He signaled at Stiles hissing for him to do the same. The soldier demanded a meal and a bed for the night, something the fisherman knew better than to refuse. Stiles cooked dinner as usual, however tonight he served their freshest fillets of fish, the cheese the fisherman had brought home from the market, and the loaf of fresh bread he had baked that afternoon. The soldier was unimpressed. 

Stiles himself, did not get any of the meal he had prepared. He was sent out of the cottage with only a hunk of stale bread for his dinner. He would spend the night in the stable with the donkey as he did on the other rare occasions that they had visitors. Being far too early to fall asleep, Stiles instead sat with his back to the cottage wall, hidden underneath the small window of the main room of their cottage. He listened to the conversation his father held with the soldier as he nibbled at the piece of bread.

“Now, my host,” the soldier said as he finished his meal. “That boy of yours looks like a capable enough servant. What price would you ask if I were to take him with me?” Stiles could almost imagine the greedy smile he knew his father must be trying to conceal.

“Oh. but sir, be I but a poor fisherman, what price could I possibly put on my only son. Is family not the greatest wealth of all? What sort of man would I be to sell my own flesh into slavery, good sir?”

“Do not deceive me, old man,” the soldier growled. “It is plain to see that the boy is not truly yours, for your skin is as tan as mine, and yet that boy is as pale as those cursed barbarians that inhabit the north.”

“Well said,” the fisherman replied. “Your eyes do not deceive you. I have never known a wife and the boy is not truly mine. Long ago in the year the great Tisroc, may he live forever, came to reign over all Calormen, the gods chose to awaken me from my slumber one summer night when the moon was at her fullest. Not being able to return to sleep, I left my humble abode to search out a refreshing drink from the creek down the hill and sat to look out upon the waves of the great sea. I sat in the sand not long before I heard the sound of oars upon a boat and then there was a weak cry. Shortly thereafter the tide washed ashore a small wooden boat with only an old man and a small boy. The man was frail, yet his body was still warm so I suspected he had recently died of starvation, clearly giving any sustenance to the boy whom he shared the boat with. I assume they must have survived a great shipwreck out in the sea. Being a most compassionate man I took the boy from the boat. I remembered how the gods rewarded those who--”

“Enough,” the soldier grunted. “I do not need to hear you praise yourself further. You rescued the boy from the sea and in return you have reaped the rewards of his labor for many years. Now tell me what price you would name, for I am weary of this conversation.”

“As you have so wisely stated, I have indeed reaped the benefits for many years since I discovered the boy. That must be taken into account when determining a fair price, my lord. You see without him I will surely have to hire another to do his work.”

“I’ll give you fifteen crescents,” the soldier snapped, cutting off the fisherman.

“Fifteen,” the man screeched indignantly. “You mock me. I will accept no less than seventy for the boy.”

This was the point in the conversation where Stiles crept away from the wall of the cottage and back to the stables. He had heard the fisherman barter in the marketplace before and he knew it would be a long time before the pair were done. There was no point now in continuing to listen, without a doubt Stiles knew that he would be a slave come tomorrow morning. 

Stiles didn’t take the news too harshly. He was essentially a servant to the fisherman anyway. If anything he felt relieved to find out the fisherman wasn’t actually his father. He had never been sure despite their clear differences in color. He had mostly assumed his mother had been lighter skinned and that he simply looked more like her. Stiles had never felt particularly fond of the old fisherman so leaving him caused him no heartbreak. Perhaps serving the soldier wouldn’t be terrible fate after all.

The boy returned to the stables where he scratched the donkey lovingly behind the ears. “I guess I’m not that old man’s boy after all,” he said running his fingers through the donkey’s mane. “I could be anybody! I wonder who my parents might have been. I was found at sea so they must have had enough money to travel by sea. I wonder if they were great lords like the soldier in there. I could be the son of a great officer, or even the Tisroc, may he live forever, himself!” He gave the donkey one last pat and looked to the other side of the stable.

The soldier’s great wolf was tied to a large iron ring on the other side of the small stable, picking at the remains of the fish the soldier had left for him. Stiles fought back the urge to pet him as the wolf turned it’s head to stare at him. Surely the wolf wasn’t tame enough to be pet like a common dog. Wolves like him were trained to fight in battles after all. He wasn’t the sort of animal you just tried to pet, no matter how soft his fur looked. 

“I wonder what the soldier will be like,” he said out loud. “Maybe serving in his house won’t be so bad. I’ve heard that some servants in big households have next to nothing to do. I bet I’ll get to wear nice clothes and I’m sure he’ll feed me something other than wretched fish every day. Maybe he’ll like me enough to set me free one day, or to adopt me as his son! Then again, he could be a terrible master. I could end up working in the fields all day in chains, and be whipped for not working hard enough. How would I ever know?” He sighed, sliding down the stable wall to sit near the donkey’s nose. He was about to close his eyes, when a voice spoke startling him so he bumped his head on the stable wall.

“You’d be a fool to think that man would treat you fairly,” the voice said lowly.

Stiles snapped his head back and forth searching for the source of the voice. “Who said that?” he said in a panicked whisper.

“I did, you fool,” the voice said again. Stiles could barely believe it, but he was almost certain the voice came from the wolf. It was staring straight at him and there was not another person in sight.

“How on earth did _you_ learn to talk,” he exclaimed, moving forward to stand in front of the wolf.

“Hush,” the wolf growled out. “Do you want them to hear?”

“Sorry,” Stiles whispered this time. “But I’ve never seen a wolf let alone a talking one. I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Where I come from, nearly all the animals can talk.”

“Where do you come from?” Stiles asked.

“Narnia, of course,” the wolf replied. “Narnia full of never-ending forests, the clearest lakes you ever did see, green fields for miles, and rivers the likes of which you have never seen. An hour in Narnia is better than a thousand years in these wretched Calormen wastelands.” The wolf made a noise that sounded quite like a wistful sigh, if that was even a noise a wolf could make.

“If Narnia is so wonderful, then however did you end up here?”

“I was captured by hunters when I was just a cub,” the wolf said with a hint of sadness. “My mother warned me not to wander too far south in the forests, and I have been paying for my error ever since. I’ve been a slave to these wretched men for years, pretending to be just as witless as the other wolves they trained.”

“But you can talk,” Stiles said. “Why didn’t you just tell who you were?”

“Don’t be an idiot, boy. If they knew I could speak it would be twice as hard to get away. They’d put me in shows like some sort of circus animals. I’d be worth even more money. They’d have had men watching me at all times. How would I ever escape then?”

“But why--” 

“Enough,” the wolf snarled, cutting off another question. “We don’t have time to waste on ridiculous questions. You wanted to know of my master, Sir Argent? He’s not a good master. Well he’s nice enough to me, but only because I cost him too much to be treated badly. To you however, I would expect him to show you no kindness. You would be better off dead than ending up a slave in his household tomorrow. You will wish you had died in that boat as a child."

“Then whatever will I do?” Stiles whispered, panic creeping into his voice.

“You’ll run away,” the wolf said, as if it was as simple as getting out of bed.

“But I wouldn’t know where to go,” Stiles said. “I don’t know if I could get away with it, he’d be sure to catch up to me.”

“Well you’d run away with me, of course.”

“You’re running away, too?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” The wolf huffed in frustration. “We’ll have to do this together. If I tried to run away by myself it would never work. There are no wolves this far south, people would spot me and immediately know I was a trained wolf and be after me in the blink of an eye. As for you, you’re right in assuming you won’t make it too far on your silly little two legs. Sir Argent would wake up and be on me in an instant to ride you down. No, if we both run away together, he’ll have no time to catch up to us. Now do you know how to ride, boy?”

“I think so,” Stiles stammered nervously. “I’ve ridden the donkey before.”

The wolf gave a snort of derision. “So you can’t ride at all then. I’ll have to teach you as we go I suppose. Can you at least fall?”

“Well, anyone can fall,” Stiles responded.

“No, but you can fall and mount me again without being afraid of falling again. Can you fall without seriously injuring yourself?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll try,” said Stiles.

“I guess that shall have to be good enough then,” the wolf sighed. “Now we can start off as soon as those two are asleep. Sir Argent was on his way north to the great city Tashbaan to see the Tisroc.”

“Shouldn’t you say ‘may he live forever?’” whispered Stiles in shock.

“Why should I?” the wolf snorted angrily. “I’m a free Narnian. Besides, that’s a foolish notion. No Tisroc has ever lived forever, and neither will this one whether I say I want him to or not. Now as I was saying my human was heading north towards, Tashbaan.”

“Does that mean we should be heading to the south,” Stiles asked a bit dejectedly.

“Of course not. He thinks I’m just another dumb animal. If he thinks I got loose, he’ll assume I’ll head back to home, which would be south of here. If anything his first assumption will be that someone in the village that way saw us ride through and has come to steal me. After all I am worth quite a bit of money.”

“So we’ll go north then?” Stiles said hopefully.

“Yes, we must. To Narnia and the north. Now, go and see if those two are asleep yet and don’t come back until they are.”

Stiles crept out of the stable to find that the sky was considerably darker now. He heard no noise when he crept up to the front window, so he circled around the cottage until he was where the old man slept. He pressed his ear to the wall and could faintly hear the familiar sound of the man’s whistling snore. There was no way to tell if the soldier was asleep for not everyone snored as loudly as the fisherman did whilst asleep.

He made his way back to the stable in the rising moonlight, feeling his way around the walls of the small building until the found what he’d been searching for. There was a key, hooked on a nail, hidden out of sight under an overhanging board. Stiles slipped the key out of it’s hiding place and unlocked the door to the small closet-like room at the end of the stable. Inside he found the saddle and reins the soldier had removed from the wolf when he’d first arrived. He gathered everything up in his arms to bring it around to where the wolf was still tied. The key was left forgotten on the shelf. No reason for him to return it now.

“About time,” the wolf growled at him as he dropped the soldier’s things to the ground. 

“I was getting _your_ things.” Stiles hissed back. “Now hurry and tell me how to put these on you.”

The wolf huffed, but growled out directions anyway. It was slow going. Stiles was afraid of buckling things too tightly or pinching the wolves fur. He also had to work carefully to keep all the metal bits from clanking against each other, lest they wake anyone. At last the saddle and saddle bags were properly situated and all that remained were the reins.

“Alright,” the wolf growled as they were buckled loosely around his muzzle. “We’ll need them to look like you’re steering, but don’t you lay a finger on them. Just tie them loosely to the saddle horn. I intend to be doing all the steering on this journey.”

Stiles did as he was told. “What now?” he whispered.

“Now you mount me,” the wolf replied. “Put one foot up in the stirrup and pull yourself up by the saddle.”

Stiles tried, but his foot seemed awfully high in the air and he had trouble gripping the saddle tightly. He tried a second time, this time managing to flop his body over the wolf’s back some and wiggling around a bit until he managed to get his other leg over the saddle all the way. 

“You’d think I was a tree the way you’re trying to climb me,” the wolf huffed.

“Sorry,” Stiles grunted.

He stared down at the back of the wolf’s head in confusion. He wound his fingers into the wolf’s soft fur down the back of his neck, until the wolf let out a low growl.

“Get your fingers out of my fur. I’ll not have you yanking it all out, boy.”

“But if I’m not meant to hold on the the reins or your fur, then what am I to hang on to?” the boy asked in exasperation.

“Your knees, you idiot. Sit up straight and use your knees to grip my sides. You can keep your hands on the saddle. Now, off we go.”

Stiles turned his head back to look one last time upon the only home he’d ever known. He didn’t feel particularly sad leaving, as he’d had few happy memories there, yet it was the only place he knew. He’d wished they could have brought the poor donkey along, but it would have only slowed them down. Turning his head back to the front, he focused now on staying in the saddle.

The wolf started their journey by going south, to confuse anyone who went looking. He walked along the creek for a ways, leaving clear pawprints in the soft banks, before wading into the shallows. They didn’t cross the creek immediately. Instead the wolf waded a long ways upstream until he found a rocky bank on the opposite side where they would leave no trace of their crossing.

Soon they were moving up the slope of the hill that was the edge of Stiles’ entire world. He’d never seen what lay beyond this hill. At the top they came to a long, open stretch of grassy plain. The wolf rolled his head and stretched out on his legs a little.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a run,” the wolf sighed, almost sounding pleased.

“No. Oh, please don’t.” Stiles mumbled. “Not yet, I don’t know how to--please, wolf.” Stiles begged. 

“Don’t call me wolf, like another of those dumb beasts,” the wolf said irately.

“Well then, what should I be calling you?”

“Derek,’ he replied as if it should have been obvious.

“Derek?” The boy said curiously. “What sort of wolf name is that?”

“The one my mother gave me.”

“Well then, Derek. If I’m not to call you wolf, then you can stop calling me boy. My name is Stiles.”

The wolf snorted. “And you think my name is strange?”

“Well. I didn’t get to choose my name either.” The boy paused. “In fact, it’s probably not my real name anyway,” he said, realization dawning on him.

“Fine. Stiles it is, then. Now I’m going to have a bit of a run. Just remember to hold tight with your knees and keep straight. You’ll do just fine. Ready?”


	2. The Journey North

They travelled through most of the night, until the edges of the sky grew pink with the impending dawn. Derek had wanted to keep going, but Stiles could hardly sit up in the saddle anymore and he insisted they stop. Surely, Derek needed to rest after travelling all day and now nearly all through the night.

Derek sighed and relented. Allowing the boy a small break. They left the saddle on Derek, as uncomfortable as it was for him, they could not afford the time it would take for Stiles to deal with all the buckles again. Stiles curled up in a patch of grass, resting his head on his arms. Despite his exhaustion, sleep still evaded him as his body shook from the chill of the early morning air. He heard Derek huff and soon there was a heavy warmth against his back as the wolf laid down beside him. Stiles mumbled unintelligibly at Derek before sleep took him and silence fell around them.

The sun was high in the sky when Stiles opened his eyes again. He had been awakened by something warm, and slightly wet feeling upon his face. When he opened his eyes, he discovered himself staring directly into the gray-green eyes of the wolf, who was breathing on his face just a few inches from his face.

“Derek,” he groaned, rolling away from the wolf so he could prop himself up against a nearby beech tree. “Oh my gods, how am I so sore? I don’t think I can move.”

“Good morning,” Derek replied. “Or should I say good afternoon? I thought you might never wake up. We best be moving along soon, though. Eat something first; I’ve already had my breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Stiles asked hazily. “What’d you have for breakfast?” 

“Rabbits.” Derek answered, licking along his muzzle. He flicked his nose back to a small pile of remaining fur and bones a short way off.

“Gross,” Stiles murmured, turning up his nose. “Ugh. Forget breakfast, Derek. I can’t even move. How am I to eat breakfast?” The wolf nudged at his side with his long snout.

“Up,” he grumbled. “You can’t be that sore. Every time you fell last night you landed in the soft grass. Surely you’re exaggerating. Now get up. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Stiles groaned again, but managed to pull himself upright. He rested one hand on Derek’s shoulder to steady himself, rolling his shoulders out and stretching the rest of his muscles out a bit. They had stopped at the edge of a small copse amidst a long plain of tall grasses. Stiles took a deep breath and realized what was so different about the air here. There was no damp saltiness about everything. the air didn’t smell of slightly rotting fish, but rather a crisp freshness the likes of which he had never known.

“So,” he began. “Breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever meal this is. I can’t exactly eat whole rabbits.”

“Check the saddle bags. I’m sure Sir Argent will have something left in them that you can eat.”

Sure enough, Stiles found some strips of dried meat, half a loaf of bread, and a packet of dried fruit. He found another small leather pouch in the saddle bags. Stiles found it held nearly forty crescents, more money than he’d ever seen in his life. He took a piece of the dried meat out and a handful of the dried fruit, before replacing the remainder in the saddle bag for later.

“Derek? Is it wrong for us to use the soldier’s money? I’ve never stolen from anyone before.”

“Nor have I, but I think we musn’t think of it as stealing. We’re free Narnians who have been held captive in enemy territory. It’s like in war, anything taken from the enemy is just considered the spoils of war. Besides, we have a long journey ahead of us and I suppose we’ll need to buy food for you. I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to eat raw rabbits.”

“No, I don’t suppose I will,” Stiles said with a shudder. He quickly finished off his breakfast, which was actually quite nice compared to what the fisherman usually gave him. When Stiles looked up he discovered Derek rubbing his sides up against a large tree. Stiles snorted.

“This damned saddle is getting itchy,” he growled. 

“You look ridiculous,” Stiles chuckled.

“I do not,” he grumbled, stepping reluctantly away from the trees.

“Come here,” Stiles said, waving his hand at the wolf. He reached under the saddle as far as he could, scratching his nails through Derek’s fur. The wolf shivered, letting out a low whine from the back of his throat. “Better?”

“Yes. That feels worlds better. Now we best be off. Up you go.” Stiles clambered up into the saddle, still just as gracelessly as before. 

“Do you know the way to go?”

“I know my way to the great city, Tashbaan. After that we’re past that it’s as simple as crossing the desert and then we’ll be in the free north.”

“Do we have to go through the city? Shouldn’t we go around? I mean there will be thousands of people in the city, won’t it be a bigger risk of getting caught?”

“It’s the fastest way,” Derek snapped as he started a slow trot off to the north. “If we were to skirt the city it would take us much longer and it would be even harder for us to buy you food. I’m not even sure I could find my way. We’ll just have to risk it and hope for the best.”

Stiles complained much of the afternoon of how his legs ached and how his back was beginning to twinge every time he bounced in the saddle. Derek growled much of the way in an attempt to cow the boy into silence, but it seemed it was far too late for that to work on him.

Near the end of the evening they approached a small village. Knowing that he would stand out far too much in a small village, Derek stayed behind, hidden in the trees while Stiles walked into the village to buy food. Derek circled the village, staying in the trees and shadows, to meet Stiles at the other side. This became their routine, sleeping throughout the day and only approach the villages when dusk was near so Derek could hide properly. More often than not, Derek found himself curling around Stiles to keep him from shivering in the early morning chill, only for the boy to wake up damp from the boy’s sweat in the afternoon heat. They traveled throughout the nights to avoid the attention of others upon the roads. Stiles got better at riding with every passing day as well. Derek still grumbled that his posture in the saddle left something to be desired, but the boy no longer awoke to aching muscles.

There wasn’t much to keep Stiles entertained once he’d learned all Derek had to teach him about riding. The ride upon the wolf’s back became rather boring, so he found himself pestering the wolf with question after question. For the most part Derek snapped out short one word answers as his patience began to wane with the boy, but in interest of shutting the boy up for some time he finally relented and began to tell Stiles stories of what it was like to fight in battle with the soldier, Argent.

“I don’t want to speak of wars any longer, Stiles,” the wolf snapped. “The battles I fought in were not my own. I was a slave, treated as another dumb beast. Now when I’ve fought in battles as a free Narnian, then I will tell you stories. We’ve talked enough, can’t you be silent for once?”

Stiles sighed. The fisherman had said much the same to him frequently when he was younger. He could not help being naturally curious and as he’d seen so little of the world, how else was he supposed to learn of it?

They’d been travelling for weeks and Stiles soon lost count of the number of days it had been. He was not even sure if he knew how to count high enough, regardless. A fisherman’s son didn’t need schooling after all. 

There came a night when the moon was full and filling the forest with it’s dim light, much like the night Stiles and Derek had first set out on their journey. They were crossing the edge of a field near the forest when Derek stopped in his tracks, every muscle in his body rigid. 

“What is it?” Stiles whispered, leaning down closer to Derek’s head.

“Sssh,” the wolf hushed him. His ears ticked backwards, listening. “Do you hear that?”

“It sounds like a horse,” Stiles whispered back after he had taken a moment to listen.

“Yes,” Derek hissed. “It is and I don’t like that.”

“Calm down,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s neck gently. “It’s probably just a farmer who was out late in the fields. Who else would be riding at such an hour?”

“That’s not a farmer,” Derek growled, clearly growing agitated. “That horse isn’t some old, worn out farm horse. That’s the kind of horse one rides into battle, which can only mean it’s rider is a soldier. Most likely a soldier looking for us!”

Stiles went very still. “Well, I can’t hear it anymore,” he whispered as quietly as he could.

“I think they’ve stopped because we have. They must be following us.”

“Well, what should we do?” Stiles reached down to wind his fingers in Derek’s fur. He knew Derek would be angry with him if he pulled out his fur, but he couldn’t help but seek what comfort he could from the wolf as they waited in silence.

“We’ll wait until that cloud covers the moon. Then we’re going to move, so be ready.”

Derek stayed perfectly still, muscles still tensed, until the moonlight grew dimmer as the edge of the cloud began to drift in front of it. He started off at a walk, making sure every step he took made no noise. He picked up speed little by little, until suddenly a loud snarl ripped through the air behind them. Stiles heart leapt into his throat and he gripped his fingers harder in Derek’s fur and squeezed his knees together as hard as he could as the wolf broke into a full out run.

“What is it?” Stiles gasped, between panicked breaths.

“Lions,” Derek growled out, not breaking his stride. After what felt like miles of sprinting, the wolf splashed into a wide stream, slowing some as the water rose up to his sides, drenching Stiles to the knees. “Hopefully that will have thrown them off our scent some,” the wolf panted as they emerged on the opposite side of the stream.

They walked for a ways, now that there were no more sounds of the chase. All Stiles could hear was the deep panting as Derek tried to catch his breath. They seemed safe for the moment, but suddenly Derek’s muscles were tensing up again as he started to sprint once more. Not a second later Stiles heard the roar of a lion, not far behind.

They ran on, not hearing any further sounds from the lions, until Stiles realized that there was a horse galloping beside them. It must be the horse that had been following them earlier.

“Derek,” Stiles hissed. “I think that rider that was following us is right beside us now!”

“Good,” he gasped. “A soldier will probably have a sword. Protect us.”

“Protect us? We might as well be eaten by the lion. They’ll kill me if they catch us!”

Derek didn’t have the breath to reply, but he answered by slowly angling them away from the horse beside them. To his surprise, Stiles swore he saw the horse do the same, widening the gap between them even further. Not a moment later twin roars echoed about both sides of them, making both riders turn back towards each other.

Stiles knew this must be the end. They couldn’t escape both the lions and the soldier. He contemplated which death would be worse. At least if he was hung for stealing his death might be swift. The roars of the lions grew even closer and soon the cloud that had granted them cover, rolled off the moon, bathing the forest in bright, silvery light. 

The horse and rider were so close that Stiles could have reached out and touched him, had he the nerve to let go of Derek’s fur. At once Stiles noticed that the rider looked very unlike the soldier who had come to the fisherman’s home. The rider next to him was smaller, barely larger than Stiles himself. He also didn’t sport the beard that was customary of most soldiers Stiles had seen. Not that he’d seen many at all.

When Stiles looked ahead, he noticed that the ground ahead looked strangely bright compared to the grass around them. All at once Derek’s body bunched up and he took a flying leap ahead. The strange looking ground turned out to not be ground at all, but rather a wide river that ran deep enough that both Derek and the horse had to swim to cross it. Stiles chanced a look back to see one, gigantic shaggy lion crouched near the edge of the water. The other lions weren’t in sight, so he could only hope they had already given up their chase.

When they had reached the middle of the river Stiles heard a voice to his right.

“I’m so tired. I don’t think I can go on.” He first thought it to be the rider, but it was immediately followed by a “Hush,” that also seemed to come from the rider. Surely the rider wasn’t speaking to himself, but that could only mean his horse was the one speaking.

It wasn’t much longer until Derek’s paws reached the bottom of the river bed, scrabbling at the gravelly bottom to gain a better purchase. As soon as they reached the bank on the other side, Derek spun himself around so he faced the horse, while Stiles did his best to hang on. 

“I heard you,” Derek growled. “You spoke. You’re a talking horse. You’re from Narnia.”

“What does it matter to you if he is?” the rider spoke harshly. “And what are you?” he asked with a sneer at Stiles. “A little slave boy who’s gone and stolen his master’s fighting wolf?”

“I’m not a slave,” Stiles snapped, “and I didn’t steal him!” Derek hackles rose.

“You might as well say that I have stolen the boy, not the other way around. I’m a free Narnian. You expect me to ignore the fact that I’ve just run into another talking beast this far south?”

“He has a point,” the other horse began.

“Stop talking, Isaac,” the rider moaned, “you’ll only get us into more trouble.”

“And why would we cause you any trouble,” Stiles said harshly. “As far as I’m concerned you can keep going on your way. I won’t stop you.”

Derek huffed in annoyance, making the decision to ignore both Stiles and the rider. He eased forward, getting a better look at the horse.

“How did you come about being a slave in Calormen?” Derek asked the horse.

“Much the same as you, I suspect. I was captured when I was a foal when I wandered too far south. I’ve been pretending to be a dumb beast since.”

Derek nodded his head in understanding. “And now you are escaping?”

“I think you should mind your own business, wolf,” the rider snapped as he became aware of his steed’s conversation.

“No, Scott,” the horse said with a whinny. “You’re not the only one trying to escape. Besides, the wolf is a Narnian, like myself. I doubt he would betray us.” The horse pointed his head back at Derek. “I’ve been telling Scott of Narnia and that is where we intend to go.”

“As are we,” Derek replied. “I think we should stick together, then. Surely, we’ll have more luck.”

“Why do you keep talking to my horse, instead of me?” The rider asked indignantly. Stiles felt the hair on the back of Derek’s neck raising as a low rumbling emanated from his throat.

“Excuse me?” he growled. “Isaac is a free Narnian. He does not belong to you, nor anyone else for that matter. If you’re looking to join us in Narnia, you would do well to remember that.”

Stiles shivered at the coldness of Derek’s voice. The boy on the horse looked like he wanted to say something, but his mouth opened and closed like a fish on land gasping for air. He abruptly shut his mouth and fell silent. 

“Are you sure we won’t be more noticeable as a group?” The horse asked timidly, breaking the long silence.

“Less,” Derek huffed. “The boy,” he began nodding his head at the rider on the horse’s back, “has armor. He can at least pass for a soldier. People will be less likely to question us if they think we are with a soldier of the Calormen army.”

“I trust you, wolf,” the rider said, “but how do I know I can trust the boy?” he asked tossing his head in Stiles’ direction. 

“Because I trust him,” the wolf growled. “In any case, look at him. He doesn’t have the tanned skin like the rest of you Calormenes. He’s far too pale to be from the south. He must be either from Narnia or from the mountains of Archenland, why should he betray us?”

“Fine,” the rider relented. “We shall all ride together.”

“Good,” the wolf said. “But now I think we should rest the remainder of the night. We’ve got the river between us and those lions now, and I don’t imagine we’ll make it much farther, anyhow.”

Both boys went about unsaddling their mounts, while Isaac began to question Derek about what places he remembered from Narnia. Scott pulled some rather delicious looking things from his own saddle bags, offering some to Stiles as well. Stiles, however, was feeling very annoyed at how he was being treated in this whole situation. He refused the offer, insisting he wasn’t at all hungry, which wasn’t true at all. 

Derek seemed to be getting on splendidly with Isaac, which only served to irk him more. The wolf never wanted to speak so much with him. After all of the night’s excitement, Stiles very much just wanted to go to sleep, curled up against Derek’s fur. However, in the presence of another Narnian, Stiles very much doubted the wolf would allow him to sleep next to him, like he was a common house pet.

After the wolf and the horse were fully acquainted, as these things took time, the wolf turned to the boy. “Well, now I suppose it’s your turn to tell us your tale. No point in rushing it. We’ve got the rest of the night.”


	3. At the City Gates

Scott put away the remaining food he had not eaten and crossed his legs underneath him. Derek scooted a little closer, resting his face upon his paws, ready to hear a good tale. Stiles did his best to pretend like he wasn’t at all interested, but he couldn’t help but inch a little closer as well.

“My name is Scott McCall,” he began. “I am the only son of Sir James McCall, the son of Isidro McCall, the son of the Tisroc Anibal, the son of the Tisroc Moshe, who was descended from the gods himself. My father, the lord of the province Calavar, was slain in the battle at Valcrest. My mother sought to remarry recently when she met a retired soldier from Talavaan. The man was kind to my mother, however in her absence he became very harsh to me. He began to beat me frequently when my mother was away.”

“Why didn’t you just tell your mother?” Stiles interrupted.

“Hush boy,” Derek said sternly. “Don’t interrupt the story.” He flicked his ears back in the way Stiles had begun to recognize as a sign that the wolf was annoyed with him. Stiles huffed quietly, but said no more as Scott returned to his tale.

“I did not wish to inform my mother of her husband’s actions against me because I did not want to ruin her happiness. Though the man was cruel to me, it was clear to me that he brought my mother great happiness. Happiness as she had not seen since I had been very young. I was reluctant to take such joy from my mother so I held my tongue. I had just turned sixteen and I knew in two years I would inherit my father’s titles on my eighteenth birthday.

My mother’s husband had other plans. He convinced my mother that I was not yet prepared to be Lord of Calavar. He informed my mother that he knew a great deal of powerful men in the Tashbaan. The man claimed that the Tisroc’s (may he live forever) Grand Vizier would be willing to tutor me until I came of age. My mother was greatly pleased by this news. She set out to have a great celebration to see me off in a week’s time.

While my mother was off making preparations, I came to overhear two of her husband’s manservants speaking in hushed tones one afternoon. It had seemed that my mother’s husband was indeed sending me off to the Grand Vizier, but I was not going to be a student to him; I was being sold to the man. I was to become his manservant. Me, the boy who was to inherit a lord’s titles, sold as a common manservant. The man intended to sell me off into slavery. He had obtained my mother’s signatures on the necessary papers even. She trusted him enough that she hadn’t even read them before signing my life away.

His plan was to sell me off into slavery before I came of age. As a slave I could no longer inherit my father’s titles. My father’s wealth would go to my mother who now shared everything with her new husband. He would gain everything my father intended to leave for me and I would never be able to see my mother again.

I knew then, that my only hope then was to run away before he realized I knew of his plan. I had one of the servants I trusted most prepare my bags for me along with my father’s old armor. I sent the servant off with my bags and our best horse late one night. Early the next morning I told my mother and her husband both that I wished to take a ride into the village to the temple where I could make an offering to the gods to bring myself luck before I left for Tashbaan.

I took an old mare and nothing but a lamb so as not to raise suspicions. Halfway to the village I changed direction and rode into the forest where I met the servant I had sent out the night before. I sent the servant away with the old mare I rode in on and rode away from my home once and for all.

I began to despair as the realization dawned upon me that I was utterly alone forever. Even though I had escaped from a life of slavery, what kind of life could I even have? I would be no better off than a slave had I gone to the city and tried to make a life of my own for I could no longer use my father’s name if I wanted to remain hidden.

I rode my horse into an open field as the moon rose into the sky. I prayed to the gods to grant me their favor in the afterlife as I pressed my father’s dagger to my chest. Before I could press the dagger in a voice spoke to me. My first thought was that I had already passed on and the voice that spoke to me was that of the gods, however my horse then knocked the knife from my breast. I knew then that it was his voice I had heard.

That was when I came to know that my horse’s name was Isaac and he was a talking beast from the northern land of Narnia. He told me great tales of his homeland. We made a pact then to find Narnia together and to find new lives where we would no longer have to fear becoming slaves again. Isaac and I have been travelling for two days and two nights, which is when we met you.”

Stiles did feel sorry for the boy. Of all people he could sympathize with him as his story was much the same. At least Stiles hadn’t been sold into slavery by his own family though. It was some comfort to him that he now knew the fisherman was not his father. 

“Well,” Derek said into the silence. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to hear our story then.”

Derek regaled the horse and the other boy with the story of how he came upon Stiles and of their escape. Stiles blushed as Derek went into great detail about Stiles’ many difficulties riding him and the great number of times he fell. It was clear that he found it amusing. Stiles just pulled his legs up, hugging them to his body in an attempt to hide the flush creeping up his neck. When Derek finally finished their tale it was rather late, or early for that matter. The four of them agreed they should rest through the morning, before beginning their journey towards the city, Tashbaan.

When it had been just the two of them, Stiles had grown accustomed to sleeping curled up next to Derek, pressed against his warm fur. He’d thought they’d been getting along, but tonight had illustrated that Derek still thought he was nothing more than a stupid boy, who had no idea what he was doing. Now that they had been joined by more capable companions, Stiles could see that Derek no longer needed him. He seemed to be getting on quite well with the horse, Isaac.

So instead of laying down next to Derek, Stiles moved a ways away from the group, putting his back up against a large stone. Derek raised his head from his paws and watched as Stiles moved away from the group. He got up from where he was laying and for a moment Stiles thought he was going to come over to him, but he gave Stiles one last glance, before turning in a half circle so his back was to Stiles. Stiles felt a small pang of sadness, but realized that Derek was still looking out for him.

Stiles felt as if he’d hardly slept at all before there was a cold nose nudging at his neck and whiskers tickling his cheeks. He went through the motions of packing the bags and buckling up Derek’s saddle while still half asleep. Derek nipped at his hands with a huff when his fur got pinched in the buckle.

“Pay attention,” he snapped. Stiles flushed with shame once again. He glanced over at Scott and the ease at which he prepared Isaac to ride. Stiles focused harder as he finished with the saddle. He stayed quiet as they rode away from the clearing. Scott and Derek easily struck up a conversation.

“You were at the battle of Zulindreh?” Scott exclaimed. “My father fought in that battle.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. Sir James McCall. Did you ever meet him?”

“Ah yes, he led the 3rd Calvary, didn’t he?”

“Indeed. That was one of the last battles he ever fought,” Scott said, voice growing soft.

“He was a good man your father.”

The two bantered on for miles discussing the places they’d been in all over Calorman. Even Isaac joined in occasionally. Scott seemed to be doing his best to pretend like Stiles didn’t exist. Stiles greatly missed when it had just been he and Derek. Instead he sat upon Derek’s back, keeping his mouth shut as he listened to all the wonderful places he had never been to.

The group did more and more of their travelling at night as they neared the capital city of Calorman. The outlying villages grew larger as they approached and it was harder to hide. Stiles most often stayed behind with Derek because a wolf would draw too much attention, and Scott had a much easier time blending in than Stiles did. He felt increasingly more useless as the days wore on and he was left behind more often than not.

They argued more and more as they neared the city walls about what they would do once they made it past the city, for on the other side was nothing but miles of desert between them and the mountains of Archenland. Stiles suggested that they all decide on a place to meet on the other side of the city. He was surprised to hear a sound of agreement coming from Scott.

“The old tombs are on the other side of the city. There should be plenty of places to hide not to mention the Calormenes are foolish enough to think they’re haunted. They’ll never go near them. If we get separated, we meet there.” Derek stated simply. There were nods of agreement all around, except for Scott.

“How do you know, though?” He asked. “All the great kings of the past are buried there. Won’t it be terrible luck to disturb them?”

“I don’t believe in such nonsense,” Derek snorted.

“Neither do I,” Stiles immediately followed up. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” It wasn’t quite true, but for once Stiles didn’t want Scott to treat him like a scared little boy. 

“Fine, then,” Scott said stiffly. “We’ll meet at the tombs.”

“Shouldn’t we worry about how to get through the city?” Isaac finally spoke up.

This only led to another bout of long arguments. Scott thought they should avoid the city altogether and either ride around it’s walls or perhaps swim the river that ran beneath the city’s bridges. Derek immediately shot down both ideas. The city was far too large. They’d have to ride too far around the city to avoid suspicion and they’d have no way to get supplies. The river wouldn’t work either. It was too wide for either him or Isaac to swim while carrying the boys.

“So we have to go through the city then,” Stiles said. “We’ll have to get disguises.”

Scott laughed. “Even if we could get you to look less like a slave, how do you propose we disguise Derek? He’s a wolf, Stiles. Everyone will be able to see clear as day what he is.”

“It could still work,” Isaac interrupted. “Scott you have your father’s armor. You ride Derek. You know how to act like a soldier. Stiles can ride behind on me and pretend to be your servant.”

“No,” Derek growled. Scott looked up surprised. 

“Well, you don’t seem to have any better ideas,” he shot back.

“The disguises will work, but I’m not a common beast for anyone to ride. I made a deal with Stiles that he could ride me until we made it safely to Narnia. Only Stiles. So if you want to do disguises, Stiles wears the armor and you wear the rags.”

“You think Stiles would actually pass for a wealthy soldier?” Scott scoffed.

“I expect you to teach him. The same way he will teach you to act like a servant.”

In the end everyone agreed to their parts however grudgingly it may have been. Scott helped Stiles strap on the armor and coached him on how to hold himself atop of Derek. The armor was a bit too big and Stiles couldn’t quite manage to copy Scott’s disinterested stare, but eventually Scott deemed his performance passable.

Stiles took great joy in passing his worn clothes over to Scott. The other boy eyed them with a look of mild disdain, but put them on anyway. Scott huffed in annoyance throughout Stiles’ directions, but did as he was told. They weren’t worried. One look at him in Stiles’ clothes and no one would pay him the slightest attention in the city.

That night they reached the forest that lay just outside the city gates. They all agreed to rest for the remainder of the night and ride into the city first thing in the morning when the gates were opened. For the first time in weeks, Derek laid next to Stiles to sleep that night as they had before meeting Scott and Isaac. Stiles took comfort from the closeness of the wolf. He wouldn’t admit it, especially not in front of Scott, but he was terrified for tomorrow. He didn’t know how, but he managed to fall asleep that night anyway, with his face pressed into Derek’s shoulder and the fingers of one hand tangled in the fur at his side.


End file.
